3. The Blood that Stains Our Hands

Arthur nearly staggered in the face of Merlin's confession, ashamed to be struck with a wave of sudden relief.

"Merlin, how…?" Guinevere didn't appear as though she could even finish her question, features twisting with concern as she tried to meet Merlin's downcast gaze.

"Wasn't hard," Merlin mumbled. "She was chained and half-starved."

It wasn't difficult to imagine. The last time Arthur had seen her, Morgana had been but a cruel, twisted shadow of her former self. The person he'd once called friend had died long before Merlin ever struck her down.

And now, all Arthur could feel was a strange, aching sorrow that left his heart heavy as he stared at Merlin's hunched shoulders and bowed head. Because her blood should never have been on Merlin's hands.

And yet…there was a part of Arthur that was relieved that her blood wasn't on his hands.

An odd sort of grief hung heavy in the space between them, a moment frozen in time. Until Merlin lifted his head and said to him with an expression that cut him to the bone, "I'm sorry."

That, more than anything, spurred Arthur into motion.

He deftly walked back to where Merlin still sat on his bed and clasped a heavy hand over his shoulder. "No," Arthur said, no sign of hesitation in his voice. "Don't be sorry."

"But…she was your sister. She…"

Arthur shook his head. "If it's between you and her, it's you. It's always you, Merlin. I'm just grateful you made it back home safe."

"Oh," Merlin rasped, the small sound weighty with emotion.

Arthur patted his shoulder one last time before withdrawing his hand.

"Now, clean yourself up. Eat. Have Gaius take a look at that," Arthur instructed, sharply gesturing towards Merlin's wounded arm. "You're useless to me in this state."

Merlin huffed quietly as he wiped his eyes dry.

"We'll be in the other room," Guinevere assured him, before she and Arthur stepped out, firmly closing the door behind them.

In the main chamber, Gaius tended to Aithusa. Her appearance was starkly different to that of when Arthur had first seen her, freshly washed hair curling around clean, rosy cheeks and layers of old garments replaced with a ruffled lavender dress slightly too large for her small frame.

Despite this, her countenance was still withdrawn, eyes downcast and shoulders folded in, as Gaius gently fashioned a sling for each of her arms, until they were safely snug against her chest and torso.

"How is he?" Gaius asked, when they moved to join him.

Arthur exchanged a knowing glance with Guinevere.

"Perhaps it would be best if you spoke with him yourself," Guinevere gently suggested. "We can watch Aithusa for a moment."

He dipped his head in agreement. "Thank you, my dear."

Gaius had only taken a few steps, when Arthur picked up his basket of supplies and went to thrust them into his arms. "He's been hurt," he said by way of explanation.

"Of course he has," Gaius said with a weary sigh, before making the journey up the steps to Merlin's room.

Arthur frowned, staring up after him long after he'd disappeared. Gaius hadn't looked the slightest bit surprised by the news of Merlin's injury. Perhaps a bit exasperated, but not at all alarmed. And while Arthur was well aware of how clumsy Merlin could be, he hadn't imagined it would result in a series of commonplace injuries, to the point that Gaius would take news of it with little shock.

Certainly, Merlin enjoyed making his complaints known…but physical wounds had never been one of them.

"Arthur? Are you feeling alright?"

Arthur shook aside his spiraling thoughts and turned back to Guinevere, who now held a sullen Aithusa in her arms.

"I'm not sure how to feel," Arthur admitted, in a rare show of vulnerability. "Guinevere, who is Freya?"

She gestured for him to come closer, and when he did, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "There's not much I can say. Merlin only spoke of her with me once, and even then, he was very frugal with the details."

"Tell me what you know," Arthur insisted, ignoring the small lurch in his chest which cautioned him against asking this of her.

Guinevere dropped her gaze, tenderly carding her fingers through Aithusa's damp curls. "Merlin loved her very much," she whispered. "But Freya was killed."

A wave of sadness engulfed him. Merlin had never once mentioned Freya to him, let alone told him that he'd suffered such a tremendous loss. "By whom?"

She hesitated, and then admitted, "She was a Druid."

"No." There was more Arthur wanted to say, more he wanted to ask, but he couldn't speak beyond the initial denial. He felt cold, like he'd been plunged underwater in the middle of winter and deprived of all air.

"Freya was killed. She was a Druid."

The words pounded from the inside of his skull, making the following silence ringing and strange. Guinevere, unable to meet his gaze, and he, unable to voice the storm of emotions violently twisting inside his heart, simply stood frozen, the painful and silent accusation sitting between them like the single strike of an axe.

"He…" Arthur croaked, "He never said anything."

And that, perhaps, was the most damning thing of all.

"Of course he didn't," Guinevere said, lifting her eyes and adjusting Aithusa into one of her arms, raising her free hand to press a warm palm against his cheek. "He knows how that would've affected you. Merlin would never want to hurt you."

"Even if I've hurt him?" Arthur asked miserably.

"You also have to realize, Arthur," she said gently, "That knowingly associating with a Druid was near as good a death sentence."

"I would never―"

"No," she agreed. "But four years ago, you were not king."

"Right," Arthur said, closing his eyes and hanging his head in defeat.

"I know it was not my place to tell you about Freya," Guinevere admitted, withdrawing her hand and curling her arm around Aithusa to better support her weight. "But, I know it still hurts him. Whether Freya is Aithusa's mother or not, and I have the sense that she is, Merlin has not forgotten her. I think that if you were to acknowledge her, acknowledge her death, that it would mean a lot to him."

"But Guinevere," Arthur protested, "What if…what if I was the one who killed her?"

Her eyes grew dark and somber. "Then I expect you will make amends."

In that moment, all Arthur could remember was the death of Guinevere's father, and his own painful attempts of making amends with her. And although the idea cut through him like a serrated knife, he knew she was right, and that to do anything less would be the height of cowardice.

They stepped apart and turned when they heard the sound of Merlin's door being drawn open.

Scrubbed up and dressed in a clean set of clothes, Merlin appeared refreshed. If Arthur ignored the red still rimming his eyes and his newly bandaged forearm, he could imagine for a single moment that Merlin had never been gone at all.

Aithusa, a stark reminder against that notion, perked up beside him, staring up at Merlin with wet eyes.

"Hey there," Merlin said, striding past Gaius and gently sweeping Aithusa out of Guinevere's arms. "I'm sorry I left you alone."

Aithusa curled into Merlin's person like she had with no one else, pressing her cheek against his chest and humming a sound of contentment. He had never imagined Merlin as a father, but in that moment, Arthur realized how well it suited him.

"We'll discuss further options for Aithusa's treatment later tonight," Gaius said. "You might as well get going."

Merlin shot him a strange look. "Am I expected somewhere?"

"I do recall a group of knights who were promised answers," Gaius reminded him. "The same group of knights, I might add, who have spent the last two weeks scouring the land in search of you."

"Ah," Merlin said, chagrined. "Of course."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Come along, Merlin. We can gather the lot of them in my chambers."

"You just want me to catch up on chores," he complained.

"You were gone for three weeks," Arthur snapped. "You're lucky I haven't already had you replaced!"

"With who?" Merlin said gleefully. "George?"

"That's not funny!"

Because, unfortunately, Arthur had had to make due with George once he ran out of clean socks.

By the time they departed from Gaius' chambers, they were still bickering, and Arthur felt like a missing piece had slotted itself back into place.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Merlin gaped when they stepped inside Arthur's rooms.

Arthur swept an eye across the disastrous mess. "Huh. I don't recall it looking this bad."

"Of course you don't, you prat! You're not the one who has to clean!" Merlin berated him. "Here!"

Arthur nearly squawked when an unfamiliar weight was pressed into his arms. "Wait! Merlin, how do I―"

"Just hold her for a second, will you? I've clearly got my work cut out for me."

Arthur met Aithusa's eyes and wondered how a four-year-old could look so utterly unimpressed by him.

A/N: The bestie keeps insisting this is an angsty story, which I vehemently disagree with. So, I ended on a lighter note :)

For anyone else curious, Aithusa is short of two years old at this point in the timeline. But I had her human form reflect an older age, because dragon newborn babies aren't nearly as vulnerable as human newborn babies.

And the semantics of her recovery will be kept discreet, because Gaius is actually treating a dragon, not a human. (But shhh, Arthur doesn't know that…yet.)

Anywho, I hope you liked it! Reviews are love! :)